


Mind the Gap

by cadoodle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Underage Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:39:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadoodle/pseuds/cadoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beacon Hills grows ‘em big. That is the number one excuse for whatever they put in the water, because damn, Beacon Hills grows ‘em big. The multi-purpose gym and trail runs the Coach sends them on might also have a hand, but it doesn’t explain the premature stubble that Scott has to shave before he begins to look like the crazy Mexican he only half is. Some freshmen come in with full beards, and the occasional stupid-looking goatee. Danny walks into The Jungle, the local gay bar, and no longer gets ID’ed. Stiles, whose baby cheeks are still sixteen years and going strong, has always envied this ambiguity of age that most of his class is blessed with.</p><p>	However, he thinks, feeling eyes on his ass, it may also be the clothes (and lack thereof, in Danny’s case) that help make the man.</p><p>--</p><p>Or the one where Derek severely overestimates Stiles' age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Beacon Hills grows ‘em big._ That is the number one excuse for whatever they put in the water, because damn, Beacon Hills grows ‘em _big_. The multi-purpose gym and trail runs the Coach sends them on might also have a hand, but it doesn’t explain the premature stubble that Scott has to shave before he begins to look like the crazy Mexican he only half is. Some freshmen come in with full beards, and the occasional stupid-looking goatee. Danny walks into The Jungle, the local gay bar, and no longer gets ID’ed. Stiles, whose baby cheeks are still sixteen years and going strong, has always envied this ambiguity of age that most of his class is blessed with.

            However, he thinks, feeling eyes on his ass, it may also be the clothes (and lack thereof, in Danny’s case) that help make the man.

            He’d walked into the bar and, deciding it was still too early to get a table and empty enough not to worry about it, headed over to grab a water at the bar. That’s when he realized, as the bartender winked at him, that maybe Lydia was an evil genius. 

\-- 

            The thing about being Lydia’s newest project is Lydia’s style gets her a) into bars and b) the numbers of gentlemen that would definitely go to jail if they touched her. The girl attends school in _heels_ for god’s sake. Heels! So naturally, when she decides to take over Stiles’ wardrobe decisions, the first thing she is thrusting in his face are skinny ties and pants that look like denim but are definitely too smooth to be denim.

            “It’s stressed.” Lydia says shortly when he shakes his head. 

            “It seems pretty relaxed to me.” He says, not able to resist stroking it against his cheek for a second. “These aren’t jeans. These are jeans’ hotter cousin with the boob job.”

            “Isn’t that what you want anyway?” Lydia says, hand on her hip.

            “A boob job?” 

            Lydia levels him with a look that lets him know she is amused but will not be for much longer. He shrugs like the little shit he is, and she puts her hands on his knees and bends down to look at him eye to eye. He barely ogles her cleavage this time, a sure sign he is getting better at the whole friendship thing.

            “Listen, I don’t care whatever self-esteem issues you think you have.” Lydia starts, a perfect example of someone who shouldn’t go into psychiatry. “But I’m telling you I see potential. And if I see it, then it’s there.” She stretches her mouth into her signature “I shouldn’t have to deal with you but I’m going to anyway” smile. “So are we going to do this or not?”

             “I want to do this, Lydia, I really do.” He says. “I’d just prefer to still be me on the other end. So, no to the ties, and no to the pseudo-jeans. And,” He cuts her off warningly, “No bowties and no blazers, either. I’m your friend, not your gay bff.” He almost had been, though, in some convoluted plan his drunk mind had come up with. He had come out to her at her birthday party with more hand gestures than he probably would’ve used sober, hoping to get in her good graces and have her take the little poor gay kid under her wing. Then, it seemed like a hop step jump to getting in her pants. He had been drunk and pretty sure it had worked in that movie that one time so, yeah.

            Lydia, however, had scoffed, told him to come back when he wasn’t talking to her boobs, and flounced away. So, plan failed. Until two months later, when he realized he hadn’t actually been lying and, while not singularly batting for the other team, wouldn’t mind handling a few balls here and there.

            He probably shouldn’t have used that exact analogy the second time around, but Lydia seemed far more accepting of his bisexuality (and maybe his more genuine, awkward cringing and confusion) and while her gay boy quota was filled (reluctantly, by Danny), apparently her hapless bi-boytoy position had an opening.

            “We’re going to have to compromise,” Lydia says, drawing back. He mourns the weight of her sweet body close to his, because he is still a horny motherfucker that needs to get laid, in the words of Scott.

            “Dude, check it out!” Speaking of Scott. His best friend pops up brandishing a Marvel logo t-shirt. “What about this?” Lydia turns to look at him and his grin falters before slipping off his face entirely. Lydia is either secretly using the Force to choke the life out of him, or he has stopped breathing out of sheer fear. Stiles is glad he can only see her back.

            “Dude, how did you even find that?” He asks, a smidge incredulously. Considering they’re in one of Lydia’s preferred high-end stores, it’s a pretty impressive find.

            “Take it back.” Lydia says sweetly, and Scott flees. His actual purpose was to be the emotional support, not the stylist. He’d been amazing throughout Stiles’ sexual revelation ( _sexulation?_ ), giving him one of his happy puppy dog smiles as if he’d known all along and was so proud of Stiles no matter what, which he probably was. When Stiles told him about Lydia taking him for a wardrobe change, he’d jumped at the chance to come along, probably to make up for all the time he’d spent with his new girlfriend, Allison.

            “Like I said,” Lydia says, using one hand to flip her hair back, “We are going to compromise. There are three stops we are making, and this is only the first one, so let’s get started.” She eyes him like the past half hour has just been testing the waters, and now she’s going to shove him down the waterfall.

            “Cool.” He says, and his voice only cracks a little. 

\--

“ _Dude._ ” Scott breathes. Lydia smirks, raking her eyes down him so slowly he almost shivers.  Stiles looks at himself in the mirror, and he has to agree. His hair, which he’d grown out to a little past his ears, is now coifed carefully up. The hair stylist had coached him through using product so he could do it himself. It looks – good. Like, really good.

            He shifts in place, the new underwear he’s bought cups his ass well, the elastic only a little itchy on his waist, something the salesperson assured him would fade. He’s pretty much scratched the whole experience out of his mind, because the last thing he wants to remember is Lydia charging into the changing room and ordering him to do a turn in the smallest pair of “boxers” he’s ever worn. Yep, traumatizing thing that he is definitely not remembering and probably didn’t even happen number one.

            Above that, the new dark wash jeans are tighter and better tailored than his usual, but not skinny, thank god. And above that he’s wearing his classic plaid, but instead of buttoning it up all the way or tucking into his jeans it hangs higher and is opened to expose the smaller-than-normal white t-shirt lying underneath. It stretches well across his shoulders. Lydia he has commanded that he roll up the sleeves as well, exposing his hairy forearms. His boots, too, are dark brown and laced, chunkier than he’s used to but manly looking. He looks-He looks like-

            “Sexy lumberjack.” Scott says. 

            “What.” says Stiles.

            “I mean,” Scott shifts, suddenly looking nervous, “You kinda look like one? Not in a bad way! But, that’s what comes to mind. Sexy, uh, sexy lumberjack.” Stiles swings his head so that he can share a commiserating look with Lydia, but instead finds her considering it. “ _Lydia!_ ”

            “Oh hush,” She waves her hand, walking closer. She puts her hand on his arms. “You’ve got good shoulders.” She snaps her fingers. “We’re getting you some henleys before we leave.”

            “Wait, do I look like a sexy lumberjack? Lydia, answer me. Lydia! LYDIA!”

\--

            And now here he is, Mr. Sexy Woodcutter himself, leaning against a bar and getting winked at by a bartender. In a bar.

            Okay, in a restaurant-bar combo where he’s waiting for his Dad. They haven’t visited this place in years, since it’s actually in the town next to Beacon Hills, but it was his mother’s favorite place. Coming back to have some time to themselves as father and son seemed like a good idea, so he’d driven over after practice and his Dad had taken a few hours off his shift, promising to be there soon.

            Stiles watches the clock and stretches out a crick in his back, and someone next to him shifts his drink out of the way of his wandering hands. He turns to apologize and that’s when his brain goes into overload.

            Forget Stiles’ newfound woodland capabilities, this man looks like he could take a log and split it in half with his bare hands. Coincidentally, he looks like he could, and willingly would, do the same to Stiles.

            “Oh, man, sorry. I didn’t, uh, see you there, I mean, I should’ve because you’re, you’re there, and you were here first, weren’t you, so I should, uh, buy you a drink? Can I?” He winces at how pleading that last bit sounds, but he feels like no one would fault him. The specimen he’s looking at - and he must be one of those test-tube babies because no one is _naturally born_ that perfect looking – is easily one of the most handsome men Stiles has ever seen, on or off-screen. He’s dark and handsome personified, probably the reason Stiles didn’t see him before because he literally blends in with the shadows, despite the fact that it’s well-lit and 5:45 in the afternoon. He’s out of place in such a warm place, well muscled and wearing leather, and Stiles is already trying to figure out ways to keep talking to him, wondering if maybe he owns a bike, wondering if maybe he’ll let Stiles ride that bike, wondering if maybe he’ll let Stiles ride his-

            “I already have a drink.” The man says, voice gruff but not as deep as expected. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t frown either, which Stiles decides to take as a good sign.

            “Oh. Yeah.” Probably for the best, considering Stiles cannot actually buy him a drink. “Are you new in town?” He blurts, which is stupid because this isn’t even his town and shit what if the guy’s lived here for ages, knows every Barry, Larry, and Harry in town and calls him out? The guy probably comes here all the time, but it’s 5:45 and he’s sitting at a bar like he has nothing to do so – new in town, newly unemployed, or an alcoholic.

            Thank you, Sheriff Father.

            The guy barely looks at him, eyes rolling past him like the bottles on the shelf are far more interesting (please don’t let him be an alcoholic) before he mutters “visiting”.

            “Visiting me, actually.” A woman says from behind him, and damn. Stiles is both elated by the two pretty people he has been confronted with and disappointed by the two pretty people he has been confronted with, for pretty people must remain amongst their prettiness and prettily cohabitate to form pretty children like Mr. Smolder and Future Bond-Girl staring at him right now as he most likely overtly drools. 

            Tall Dark and Gorgeous, the Female Edition, extends her hand pleasantly past the Male Edition. “Laura.” Stiles moves to grab it but is knocked back when Leather Jacket Hottie shuffles to the side, almost viciously. 

            “Hey!” Mrs. Dark and Handsome protests. Stiles blinks and retracts his hand. 

            “Sorry, man, didn’t mean to infringe there.” He says politely. Ah, Sinfully Stubbled is protective. How his heart yearns.

            “Oh god no,” Mrs. Dark and Handsome says, “You’re not. He’s my brother, Derek.” And that explains _so much_. 

            “Oh.” Stiles smiles weakly, because what that doesn’t explain is why Green Eyes seems ready to take him down where he stands. “Cool.”

            Laura is apologetic in a way that states this is more often than not her brother’s modus operandi, but when she turns to Derek she does a double-take at how seething mad he is. His chest is heaving a little and he’s made fists against his (tight, umph those thighs) pants. Stiles is about to beg off to the bathroom for fear of being punched when Laura spins towards him.

            “Will you excuse us.” She says, smiling charmingly. She winds one hand around Derek’s impressive musculature and hauls ass towards the bathrooms.

            Which leaves Stiles alone again, to contemplate his fate of being surrounded by beautiful, incredibly scary people.

\--

            He’s sipping his water and not-so-subtly playing Candy Crush beneath the counter when someone taps him on the shoulder.

            “Finally, Daehhhhrek. Derek! Hi!” He recovers, and Laura has done some miracle work indeed. Derek has downgraded from definitively homicidal to It might’ve been an accident of strength, which really shouldn’t give Stiles as much peace of mind as it does.

            Stiles realizes in his attention Derek has scooted closer, so much so that Stiles has to crane his neck to see past Derek’s shoulder, at which point he spots Laura, who looks like she is desperately trying not to look at them.

            He’s so busy trying to figure out why Laura will not respond to his looks of distress that he misses what Derek says the first time.

            “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Stiles requests, hoping it is not along the lines of, please let me brutally murder you in the alleyway behind this bar.

            “I said,” Derek shuffles, and Stiles watches him bemused. “Can I buy you a drink?”

            Stiles almost laughs, because it sounds like Can I buy you a drink and pour in the arsenic myself, a solid frown tugging Derek’s lips down, but Stiles glances up and Derek is staring straight at him, eyes intensely green with flecks of gold, and his ears have gone a brilliant shade of red.

            “Yea,” Stiles says, voice dry, “Of course-“

            “Of course _you. May. Not_.”

            Oh. Oh no.

            “D-Dad!” He turns around and there the Sheriff is, in full uniform, arms crossed and glaring darkly at Derek behind him.

            “Dad?” Someone whispers behind him. Stiles winces, and the Sheriff’s eyes narrow even further.

            “Yes, I am.” He says, drawing himself up even further. Stiles thanks whatever religious deities exist in the minds of men that his father is not, at this moment, carrying. He looks ready to pistol whip Derek across the face and Stiles has never, ever fucked up this bad before.

            “I am also-“ The Sheriff starts, only to be cut off by Laura.

            “Sheriff Stilinski.” Her pleasant smile still intact, the only thing off seems the way her hands pat down her jeans hurriedly as she slides in front of her brother. “I know who you are.”

            To his credit, the Sheriff does not look away from Derek once. “You do?”

            “Yes, you might remember me, well actually us.” Laura says, gesturing to her brother. “I’m Laura. Laura Hale. This is my brother, Derek.”

            “Laura Hale.” Stiles repeats. Even that is enough to make the Sheriff’s arms loosen and fall to his sides.

            Laura and Derek Hale, aka the two tragic survivors of the Hale Family Fire, alongside their Uncle Peter. Laura and Derek Hale, who left the day after the funeral and never returned. Eight Years ago. When Stiles was nine, and Derek was in high school.

            Which makes Derek 24.

            Stiles may have seriously dropped the ball on this one.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles, he looked like a serial killer.” John says. 
> 
> Stiles snorts. “Killer jawline, maybe.” Like he hadn’t looked ten seconds from bolting himself. “Dad.” Stiles says, hushed, eyes wide. “He asked to buy me a drink. Me.” Oh god, no.

The Sheriff is unsurprised to see walk in to _Carlton_ ’s and see his son, sitting at the bar. He is equally unsurprised to see his son’s head almost touching the counter from how seriously and indiscreetly he is playing his little phone game. It causes a ridiculous fondness as he sidles up and slides into the barstool beside him, not saying a word.

            Because lol, as Stiles’ generation says.

            “Finally!” The Sheriff hears, and he grins, turning- “Daehhhhrek. Derek! Hi!”

            What?

            He frowns, glancing to the side as Stiles’ whole body swivels towards a man that looks like his face belongs on several wanted posters. Read: All of them.

            Derek, as the Sheriff gathers his name to be, mutters something that neither Stiles nor he hears, and they both crane forward.

            “I said, can I buy you a drink?”

            “What.” The Sheriff says, but not quite loud enough as neither his son nor this man notice. A lady, further down curiously enough, seems to perk up and glance at him. The Sheriff does not care, as he stares resolutely at the back of his son’s head, his _straight_ son’s head, Stiles is going to turn this drink down and walk away from his proposed future murderer, right freaking now-

            “Yea,” Stiles starts. The Sheriff stands up. “Of course-“

            “Of course _you. May. Not_.” John hisses. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the lady scramble to get up. Perhaps a family emergency. The Sheriff knows his way around plenty of those.

            “D-Dad!” Stiles says. Oh yeah, his kid knows he fucked up. He don’t know who he’s more mad at, but since he doesn’t know the circumstances behind Stiles’ acceptance, he’s going to go for the man who just solicited his underage son. Who hasn’t run yet, which is either a good sign or a bad sign. John isn’t a spring chicken but he could still take him down, he thinks, use his sheer momentum to tackle him down.

            “Dad?” The same man mutters, and Stiles’ head whips back.

            “Yes, I am.” John says. “I am also-“

            “Sheriff Stilinski!” Someone else answers for him. It’s the same lady he saw getting up earlier, except apparently it had been to approach him. “I know who you are.” She says, which is strange, actually, considering they’re in a different county.

            “You do?” He humors her for a moment, eyes never leaving the man, whose face, while still frowning, has gone tight. Wasn’t expecting a Sheriff, huh kid. A Deputy maybe, but not the freakin’ Sheriff.

            “Yes, you might remember me, well actually us.” The girl says, at his side. “I’m Laura. Laura Hale. This is my brother, Derek.”

            And that makes him turn to see her, and wow. She is the spitting image of Talia Hale. And now he sees it in Derek too, bits of Talia and the jawline and eyes of a young Richard Hale. Richard Hale was always a positive, happy person til’ the day of his death. All smiles, where Derek is tight eyes and scowls, and something in John’s heart pangs because he knows exactly why Derek looks so angry when Richard did not.

            “Laura Hale.” His son repeats dumbly, and the Sheriff remembers Laura babysat for them once or twice. Perhaps his son is remembering that. Laura seems to be, based on the nervous laugh she gives.

            “I’m so sorry about my brother, I know he looks very threatening but I promise he’s a sweetheart.” She says, grinning more confidently now that it is obvious he remembers her. “But I didn’t know you had another son besides Stiles, Sheriff.”

            “Huh?” Says John.

            “How is Stiles, by the way? Gosh he was the cutest little thing, he must be what, 15, 16 now?”

            “17.” The Sheriff says, as things slowly slip into place. Beside him Stiles is shrinking in his chair. The little shit.

            “Wow! That old already?” Laura whistles.

            “Old enough, apparently.” The Sheriff nails his son with a glare, clamping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing tight. “Stiles, say hi.”

            Laura’s jaw drops, while Derek’s blank expression doesn’t waver. Actually, scratch that, John spots his hands digging into the counter. Good, he had no clue. Which puts him in the clear, and his son into a permanent grounded.

            “W-What?” Laura stammers. Derek gets up without a word and slides his coat on, stalking past them.

            “Derek, wait,” Stiles tries, trying to get up despite John’s hand pinning him down, and John is thrown for a loop. His kid looks genuinely distressed. It doesn’t matter though, because Derek is already out the door. Laura surprises them both by bursting into laughter. It takes her a few minutes to calm down.

            “Sorry, just,” She says, still chuckling. “He has the worst luck.” Her mouth twists a little bitterly, and did the Sheriff miss something here? In what world is having ninety percent of your family burn alive comparable to his son being too young to have a drink? It was a drink yes, not a marriage proposal? Has Stiles been dating Derek?

            It sends shivers down his spine, because if anyone could pull that off it would be Stiles. His son has far too much time on his hands, gets bored far too easily, and that blasted laptop has been his accomplice one too many times.

            “I’m sorry, Derek genuinely had no idea. Not that it was Stiles’ fault, of course.” Laura rushes. Stiles lets out a breath and immediately sucks it back in as the Sheriff’s hand remains firm.  “I’d love to catch up, sometime, though? We’re coming into Beacon Hills next week, so,” Laura hands him a business card with her information on it. He pockets it with a smile.

            “The Deputy Department’s information is pretty public knowledge. I should be in my office but just make sure to call ahead, and I’d be happy to talk.” He’d always liked Laura, who smiles back (if not a little weakly), says a polite goodbye to both him and Stiles and heads out the door.

            It clicks close.

            “You’re in so much trouble-“

            “I know I messed up, I just-“

            “-I can’t even believe you, Stiles,-“

            “-His beard talked me into it! It’s just scruffy and-“

            “-Everything I’ve taught you, stranger danger, freakin’ stranger danger-“

            “-And he’s just so hot, Dad, hot people don’t usually talk to me-“

            “You like guys?”

            “-Seemed so earnest, and-what?”

            “Since when have you liked guys?” John asks. “It’s always been Lydia Martin this and Lydia Martin that.”

            “Um, can we not talk about this now.” Stiles says, face going a splotchy red.

            “Stiles.”

            “I might be bisexual.”

            “ _Might be?”_

Stiles coughs. “Am. Am Bisexual.”

            “…I see. And of all people you decided to fixate on Derek Hale?”

            “He’s very fixate-able!” Stiles protests.

            “Stiles, he looked like a serial killer.” John says.

            Stiles snorts. “Killer jawline, maybe.” Like he hadn’t looked ten seconds from bolting himself. “Dad.” Stiles says, hushed, eyes wide. “He asked to buy me a drink. Me.” Oh god, no.

            “He thought you were older.” John points out. 

            “He thought I was _older_.” Stiles says, voice even more awed. Shit, that didn’t work.

            “Stiles,” He starts. 

            “Dad, please let me have this.” Stiles interrupts. “Please. I mean, did you see that guy? He was like a, a twelve hundred thousand out of ten and I’m like, a seven, because Lydia tells me to have more confidence in my smokin’ hot bod, and you know what they say about sevens.”

            John does not.

            “They eat nines, Dad, they eat nines.” Stiles doesn’t seem exactly sure where he’s going with this either. 

            “Is this your way of telling me you’re a gay cannibal?” The Sheriff asks, because he can.

            “ _Oh my god.”_

 --

            They’re getting in their respective cars, dinner done with minimal scarring not counting the whole majorly scarring initial startup, when Stiles gets a call from Scott.

            “Scott, my broseph, wassup?”

            “ _Stiles_.” Scott whispers into the phone, heaving. “ _Stiles, you gotta help me.”_

 _“_ Scott what’s wrong?” He asks, entering the jeep.

            _“I’m in the forest, I-I don’t remember how I got here,”_ Scott’s breaths are fast and shallow, _“I don’t remember anything_.” He sounds like he’s about to cry.

            “Did you drink anything?”

            “ _No.”_

“Okay, can you get up?”

            “ _No, no nono Stiles, you don’t understand._ ” Scott says, _“I’m bleeding, my whole side is bleeding, and and-“_

“Scott, what?” Stiles says, slamming the car into drive.

            _“I think someone’s here with me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn! Things just got real~~ Please leave me a comment letting me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He comes to on a, frankly quite dank-smelling mattress. The walls are burnt, fully collapsed in some places. Derek Hale is sitting against the remains of one, watching him.
> 
> Wait.
> 
> “Holyshit.” Stiles says, scrambling away. “Have I been kidnapped?”
> 
> Derek stares him down. “No.”
> 
> Stiles looks down and yeah, no rope around his ankles or his wrists. “So, am I free to go?” He asks.
> 
> “No.” Derek says, getting up.

            “Here, Scotty, Scotty, Scotty,” Stiles says, low in his throat. He’s got his lacrosse stick in one hand and a flashlight in the other, carefully picking his way through the foliage. Thankfully both had been in the back of his jeep already, along with the first aid kit Stiles now has in his backpack which hopefully he won’t have to use.

            Hopefully, Scott is being a big baby and Stiles is not going to be whamming his lacrosse stick across anyone or anything’s skull tonight.

            As if tonight hadn’t been weird enough already.

            _“D-don’t call my Mom.”_ Scott had pleaded over the phone. He kept fading in and out, the service in the forest sub-par at best. _“Stiles, please don’t call my Mom, she’s at work and she’ll freak out, just come get me. Please, just come get me.”_

“Scott-“

            “ _Please.”_ Scott said, his voice cracking, and that had been that. Stiles still had Melissa’s number on speed dial, but for now he was on his own.

            “Scott, what about whatever’s with you? Who is it?...Scott!”

            “ _…I’m here.”_ Scott said, hushed. “ _I don’t know I just-I hear”_ The connection dropped.

            “Scott!”

            “ _Breathing.”_ Scott answered. “ _Something’s breathing._ _Stiles, I have to, I-“_ This time the entire call dropped. Stiles bit back a scream of frustration, debating calling his friend back. If Scott’s ringtone was on it might disturb whatever he thought was with him.

            After a minute on the highway he dialed again, only to get the dial tone. He tried two more times and gave up after that, probably breaking several traffic violations on his way to the forest. He pulled up half-hazardly and grabbed the lacrosse stick left over from practice, and now here he was, walking aimlessly.

            “If this is a fucking prank I swear to god,” Stiles says, trying to control the trembling of his hands. Visions of his friend, torn apart and catatonic in a pool of his own blood flash through his head. Had Scott sounded faint through the phone? Like he was barely clinging to life?

            Stiles grips the handle harder, calling Scott’s name progressively louder. Every snap and crunch becomes something ready to jump out and tear him to shreds, but Stiles is ready. His footsteps become firmer, his arms steadier. He’s going to find his best friend, and he’s going to get him out of here. Everything else out there better watch the fuck out.

            “SCOTT! SCOTTY-BOY!”

            “Stiles!!” He hears, faintly through the trees. Stiles starts running.

            “SCAAHT! SCAA-oh hey, man, watsup.” Stiles skids to a halt in a partial clearing. He can barely make out his friend, and he swings the flashlight over to-

            “Good god what is that!” he shrieks, almost dropping the light.

            “Shh!” Scott whispers/hisses. “You’ll wake her.”

            “ _Her?_ ” Stiles hisses. “Scott, this is not the time to be assigning genders! Get away from it!”

            It, being the giant fuzzy wolf Scott is leaning over. Except clearly Stiles is hallucinating, because there _are no wolves in this part of California._

            “Stiles, I think she’s hurt.” Scott, He-of-the-Bleeding-Heart says.

            “Scott, I think you need to reassess your priorities here, buddy.” Stiles clamps down on the panic attack that is threatening to arise, puts his flashlight between his teeth and uses both arms, winding one around Scott’s side, to haul him back.

            Scott grunts as Stiles drags both of them away, starting to protest.

            “Shut up!” Stiles hisses. “If that thing wakes up, you’re wounded and I have a plastic stick that it could chomp to bits, so shut! The! Fuck! Up!”

            Scott shuts up. Stiles drags them out of the clearing and away from the wolf, trying not to think about the blood trail they’re probably leaving behind. Scott has one hand clamped on his side, where it’s no doubt coming from, but Stiles can feel it, wet on his t-shirt. Scott’s jeans are soaked with it.

            “Jesus, man, how much blood have you lost?” He asks. Scott’s face in the light is pale and sweaty, and Stiles props him up against a tree and takes out the first aid kit.

            “Do you think you can stand? Do you need your inhaler?” Stiles asks, also keeping an extra in his bag. Scott breathes heavily, but not with trouble, brow furrowing.

            “I don’t know? I think I need a minute or two.” Scott says. He grabs Stiles’ arm and leans over to puke in the grass.

            “I think you might be going into shock.” Stiles observes. Scott gives him an unimpressed glare.

            “Okay, come on, let’s take a look at this bad boy.” Stiles says, lacrosse stick beside him and easily accessible. He peels away Scott’s t-shirt, using the flashlight, and his blood goes cold.

            “How bad is it?” Scott pants at him. The bleeding has slowed, and Stiles takes a cloth and starts wiping, and he knows. He presses a large bandage to it and tapes it up as hurriedly as he can.

            “Stiles?” 

            “Come on,” Stiles says, getting an arm under Scott. “You need to stand. We’ve got to get out of here.” 

            “Stiles, wait, Stiles, the wolf-“

            “Is what bit you, Scott!” Stiles hisses, wondering how he could’ve been such an idiot. There are teeth marks all along Scott’s side, and he had just been sitting _next to it_ as if it had been a harmless puppy. Stiles should’ve gotten them both out of here, out of _range_ ages ago. “It attacked you, and maybe you got a good hit in, but now we’ve got to go. I’ve got to call animal control, my Dad-“

            “Stiles.” It’s not Scott, this time. Stiles turns as something hits his head and-

            Darkness.

            ---

            He wakes up, briefly, and he’s upside down. Someone’s carrying him over their shoulder. He can just make out ass, in his face. He could reach forward and take a bite. Haha. Ass.

Where’s Scott? There’s a faint whining sound.

            He passes out again.

            ---

            He comes to on a, frankly quite dank-smelling mattress. The walls are burnt, fully collapsed in some places. Derek Hale is sitting against the remains of one, watching him.

            Wait.

            “Holyshit.” Stiles says, scrambling away. “Have I been kidnapped?”

            Derek stares him down. “No.”

            Stiles looks down and yeah, no rope around his ankles or his wrists. “So, am I free to go?” He asks.

            “No.” Derek says, getting up. Stiles scoots back even further, but this doesn’t stop Derek from reaching down, grabbing his arm and hauling him upright. Stiles knocks into his chest with an “oomph” and tries not to grope, though his fingertips curl against what can only be a well-defined set of abs.

            Of course this is what he decides to think about while being held hostage in what seems to be the burnt up remains of the Hale House.

            “Oh god, I’m in a B-List Horror Film.” He mutters, even as Derek turns and heads out the door. He shows no signs of having heard Stiles, and he hasn’t yet threatened to maim him either, so Stiles follows him down the stairs where he hears two very recognizable voices.

            “-Stiles have to do with this,” Scott is saying to Laura, whose back is facing Stiles. His face lights up when he sees him.

            “Thank god you’re okay!” Scott cries, catching him in a huge hug. Stiles blinks twice, because shouldn’t that be Stiles’ line? Scott’s changed his shirt to something larger, no doubt one of Derek’s, and a pair of sweatpants, and there isn’t a drop of blood (or puke) to be seen.

            Stiles realizes Derek and Scott seem to be embroiled in some kind of glare-off, with Scott squeezing him tighter with every second that passes.

            “Buddy, ribs,” he gasps out. Scott releases him immediately, but the pain in his chest is replaced with the pain in his head. “And head, apparently. Ow.” Derek shifts at that, and Scott goes back to glaring at him.

            “Does anyone have painkillers?” He asks. And a cellphone? His is no longer in his jeans, which makes Stiles think it must’ve slipped out of his pocket at some point and is now sitting on the forest floor. Which is sucky, considering he and Scott could probably use it right now.

            Laura presses her fingertips against his scalp, skimming gently until she hits something that makes him hiss.

            “It’s just a bump. Thankfully my brother didn’t do too much damage.” She says, smiling weakly.

            What.

            “What.” Stiles says flatly. He spins around to face Derek and his mouth is moving before he can think it out and assign home field advantage here. Hint, it’s certainly not him.

            “ _You_ hit me? You knocked me out? _You_ did, not a giant killer wolf planning on mutilating and probably devouring my poor virgin body?” Derek twitches, but doesn’t beg forgiveness. “Why the hell would you do that? _Why the hell would you hit someone_ _to-_ “ Stiles gasps. Could it be?

            “Is this because I lied about my age?” He asks, suddenly. Derek’s brow furrows further.

            “Dude, what?” Scott says beside him, which, ugh, so not the time Scott.

            “Because, dude, you never asked! You just assumed, and it wasn’t coming up, but I would’ve told you, I would have! Eventually! I was just-“

            “Stiles!” Laura cuts him off. “It’s alright. That’s not why Derek, uh-“

            “Bludgeoned him across the head with a tree branch?” Scott asks, still glaring daggers at Derek. Stiles gapes.

            “A tree branch?”

            Derek frowns in what Stiles is pretty sure is guilt, even though it is a minor deviation from his usual expression. Stiles is beginning to understand that Derek is not a very expressive person.

            “Derek does not do well under pressure.” Laura cuts in smoothly. “And unfortunately, we were both under a lot of pressure.”

            “So you thought the ideal method to deal with things would be to assault me? _Me?_ The son of the _Sheriff_?” He’s gratified to see both Hale siblings look squirmy now. “Aren’t you guys in your twenties? Aren’t you supposed to be, I dunno, _better_ at this?”

            “Better at kidnapping?” Derek mutters sarcastically, and, um, no.

            “That’s it, we’re getting out of here.” Stiles grabs Scott’s arm, only to have Derek grab his. “Let. Go.” He demands, and for once something must translate because Derek drops it like it’s hot. Even Scott looks a little awed.

            “Useless.” Laura says in what Stiles was definitely not supposed to hear, before moving to intercept them both.

            “Stiles, I know how this looks, but I’m sure your friend Scott would be willing to explain everything. And in the meantime, if you could not mention this to anyone-“

            Stiles smiles sweetly, because damn it, his head hurts.

            “Mention what? The physical assault of a minor? The kidnapping of two minors? Or the wolf,” and yes, based on the way Laura and Derek jerk up to look at him, Stiles has hit the bulls-eye. “That I’m guessing, based on this hasty cover-up, actually _belongs_ to one of you. If anyone found out it bit Scott, it would have to be put down, right?”      

            “Stiles,” Scott says hesitantly, “That’s not-“ 

            “Yes.” Laura says firmly. “Yes, it would have to be put down.”

            “Laura.” Derek growls.

            “Shut up Derek.” Laura snaps, and he does. Derek is a good follower, Stiles thinks unkindly. It makes him want to see Derek outside of Laura’s influence.

            “Scott, you know where to find us.” Laura says with a nod. Scott nods back, and excuse me?

             “Um, is soliciting underage kids the family business, or am I missing something here?” That lands a solid flinch from Derek, and another “what?” from Scott. Stiles almost feels guilty.

            Laura shakes her head, for some reason pinning Derek with an exasperated look.

             “My brother sure knows how to pick ‘em.” She drawls. Stiles blushes against his will.

            “Stiles, go home. Scott will explain it to you, if he wants. It’s up to him. Don’t tell your father about any of this.”

             “And why should I?”

            “Because come tomorrow morning, that wolf will be gone.” Laura says, smiling a complete non-smile. “And then you will have no evidence, only the fact that you were trespassing on what still technically counts as Hale Territory.” Stiles sputters.

            “Go home, Stiles. Derek will see you out.” Laura turns and walks through the other hallway, having done her mafia-style exit. Stiles half expects Derek to escort them to a part of the woods where he will proceed to brutally murder them, but instead he just sees them to the door, and yes, it is definitely the Hale Home. Or what is left of it. Stiles still remembers the chilling pictures from the newspaper.

            Scott is suspiciously quiet, and when Derek nods and says something to him that Stiles can’t hear, he glares but acquiesces, heading past Stiles. Derek reaches out and touches Stiles’ shoulder, gently, uncharacteristic of the previous grab. Actually, Derek’s been pretty good about not touching him at all actually, and if so doing it quickly.

            It’s an interesting transition, to go from desired to hated in less than 12 hours.

            Now, though, now Derek’s hand lingers. The tip of his thumb lands against Stiles’ collarbone, and it takes all he can to not shiver.

            “I’m sorry.” Derek says after a moment.

            “It’s fine.” Stiles says shortly. 

            “It’s not.” 

            “What are you apologizing for?” Stiles asks. Derek is silent. “Because if it’s for the bludgeoning, yeah, apologize for that. But the flirting thing? Assuming that’s what you were doing, yeah, don’t apologize for that. Before I knew you were a psycho tree-branch wielder, I was pretty proud of that.” He shrugs off Derek’s hand and finally turns to face him, and nope nope nope, too close. Stiles is too tempted to kiss that handsome frown off his face, so he takes the few steps down the stairs.

             “Stay away from Scott, Derek.” He says firmly, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding. His head feels clearer, somehow. It hurts less.

            “Stiles,” 

            “I won’t talk about the stupid wolf. But take care of it. And I’ll take care of Scott.” He’s not looking Derek in the eye anymore, backing away. Derek’s eyes are too intense, too focused on Stiles. They make him feel like he’s melting into the ground, despite the cool night air.

            “Stay away from him.” He repeats one more time, before walking away. He needs to find Scott, needs to find his jeep, needs to get home before he exceeds the appropriate amount of time to be at Scott’s playing video games. He doesn’t know how many hours he’s lost. He doesn’t know what Laura and Derek want with Scott.

            He doesn’t know why he told Derek to stay away from Scott and never once told Derek to stay away from himself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see some parallels between Scott and Stiles' conversation in this chapter and the one where Stiles is trapped in the nightmare with the nogitsune, congrats! You win a prize ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura takes her chair and throws it against the wall. Derek doesn’t spare the new dent a glance. “I bit a boy! A teenage boy! Oh, and, of course,” She laughs, “His best friend is your fucking mate!”

            That cannot be comfortable, Derek thinks. Stiles’ neck is half on the bed, half reaching for the floor. No pillow, either, so no elevation. He’s going to wake up miserable.

            “Derek _what the fuck_.” Laura hisses from behind him. Derek almost turns his neck towards her, but he feels like if he moves then he’ll start reaching for Stiles.

            “Out, get out, now!” Laura all but shrieks in his ear, grabbing the back of his jacket with one hand and using no small amount of supernatural strength to fling him out the window.  He lands in the grass two floors down, and his spine cracks clean in half. Laura lands with more elegance and less broken vertebrae, smashing a hand over his mouth, muffling his howl as his fangs sink into her hand.

            He releases her instantly, wincing as his bones shift together. Laura reaches down to wipe the blood on her jeans, then hauls him up.

            “Go.” She says quietly, but firmly, pushing him in a random direction. His eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness, but he does as she says and begins running.

            When he smells the burnt out husk of his home, he keeps running.

            He runs until dawn breaks, and then for longer.

            By the time he returns to their motel, Laura has coffee, and, based on appearance, a healthy headache.

            “I’d ask you what were you thinking, but I don’t think you were.” She says, not looking up, and Derek stifles the urge to whine. He’s not an actual dog, but Laura is his alpha, and he knows he’s disappointed her. He hasn’t groveled since he was a teenager, not for anyone, and he’s not even sure he knows how to anymore.

            And part of him is angry at her, even though he knows it’s not her fault. But if she hadn’t insisted on meeting up at that damn bar, just to catch up before they returned to Beacon Hills, if she hadn’t insisted, he might’ve never met Stiles.

            And wouldn’t that just be better than this?

            “Come on, sit down.” Laura says, and he takes a seat at the small table. She pushes the coffee forward, and he takes a sip even though it’s cold. A petty revenge it is, but Laura’s shoulders loosen a tad.  

            “I checked the paper this morning.” She says, leaning back. “No more spirals. No more dead deer.”

            Derek has never been much of a detective, but he’ll bite. “So the Were has gotten his revenge?”

            “Was anyone brutally murdered last night?” Laura asks, and Derek grunts, taking another sip. Wolves, despite being a hidden species, are fairly conspicuous. If they want revenge, they make sure the world, or at least the other packs know. The only reason Laura and him have returned to Beacon Hills in the first place is because the spirals found on the deer over the past few weeks have grabbed the notice of several packs. The territory of Beacon Hills has been considered “claimed” despite having no alpha living there currently, out of respect to him and Laura, and she is still technically responsible for it. She asked Derek to come along as her Second, as taking a Born Hale as her Beta will always look better than taking someone from another pack.

            Derek had come from New York, but Laura had always lived in the next town over. She couldn’t bear being that far away from her home, her territory, and their uncle, but Derek had needed a fresh start. Laura had understood that, even if it meant splitting up their pack.

            But now she had needed him, and he had returned without protest. He owes her that much.

            “This guy is flashy. Whoever it is, whoever he kills, he’s going to want attention for it.” Laura says, tossing today’s newspaper in front of him. “No headlines, no dead deer.”

            “Maybe you stopped him before he killed another one?” Derek offers. Laura snarls at him, eyes flashing.

            “I don’t know _what_ I did! In case you’ve forgotten, because I certainly have, our would-be murderer decided to stick his claws in my neck and take away all of my memories of last night! Oh no wait, I remember perfectly!” Laura takes her chair and throws it against the wall. Derek doesn’t spare the new dent a glance. “I bit a boy! A teenage boy! Oh, and, of course,” She laughs, “His best friend is your fucking mate!”

            Derek’s heart thuds heavily against his ribcage, too controlled, and Laura hears it, glances at him, and sighs. Her fangs recede, and she picks up the chair before sinking into it.

            “At least it’s not a pack on our ass. I got a good swipe on him before he sunk his claws in me, I would’ve been dead twice over if it was a whole pack.” Laura says, pensive. “No omega knows that technique, though. Whoever this wolf is, he had a pack. And the spirals? No, he’s born, not bit.”

            “So he’s not wild.” Derek says. Laura laughs. “I wouldn’t bet on that, Der,” she says. “That kind of power only comes from batshit crazy, especially in a beta.”

            “Are you sure he’s a beta? If he’s an alpha, he might’ve turned-“

            “Scott’s mine, Derek.” Laura says, tired. “I can feel it. I’m sure you can, too, if you try hard enough.”

            Derek doesn’t have to try that hard, and it stings that Laura thinks their pack bond has faded that much. It might not be at the forefront, but it’s still strong. It’s there.

            And so is Scott McCall, whether Derek likes it or not. Hell, whether Laura likes it or not.

            “I’m going to have to look into properties.” Laura says. “No matter what happens, Scott is my responsibility. I can’t leave him.” She turns to Derek and he knows what she’s going to say before she says it.

            “Derek I want you to stay.”

            “No.”

            “Derek,”

            “I’m not staying, Laura.” He says. “I have an apartment, a job-”

            “I _need_ you, Derek.” Laura says, and Derek wants to laugh.

            “I’m the last thing you need.” He says instead, getting up.

            “ _Sit down.”_ Laura commands, eyes going red. He sits, so abruptly his knees crack. He snaps back a growl, but glares at Laura, who is clenching her fists.

            “I am so _sick_ of your pity party.” Laura grits out. “I thought letting you go would help you heal, but I can see now I was wrong. Pack sticks together, isn’t that what Mom always said? Pack is important.”

            She comes closer and kneels before him, gaze gentling. She runs a hand through his hair. “Der, I’m sorry. I am. But you need to come home. Pack sticks together. I’m sorry it took me so long to remember that.” She keeps her hand in his hair, eyes earnest. Derek gives in for a second and nuzzles in before remembering how he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve Laura’s love when she doesn’t know the sins he’s committed.

            He stiffens in his seat, and Laura pulls back, eyes dimming.

            “If not for me, stay for Stiles.” Laura holds a hand up before he can protest. “We’ll figure it out. He’s young, but you’ve mated to him, and there’s nothing you can do about that. If you go home now, you risk going insane. This whole Edward Cullen Twilight bullshit is bad enough as it is.”

            Derek’s confused look is enough to make Laura choke. “You mean to say you lived in New York City and you never heard of Twilight?”

            “I heard of it.” Derek grunts, embarrassed. “I just don’t know how this applies. Isn’t he a vampire?” Laura snorts.

            “He’s a stalker, more like. Which is what you’ll become if I find you in Stiles bedroom one more time, _watching him sleep_.”

            “It wasn’t on purpose!” Derek protests.

            “I know it wasn’t. That’s what scares me.” Laura tosses his coffee in the trash. “Get up and take a shower. I have to call Alpha Reed and let him know I’m restating the Hale Claim.”

            “Do you want me to do anything?”

            “Yeah. Go to the Sheriff’s Station.”

            “To find out more on the deer?” Derek asks. Laura shakes her head.

            “No. You’ve got a Sheriff to charm the pants off of.”

            “What?”

            “Well, if you want to get the pants off his underage son anyway,”

            “Laura!”

            “Go! Figure out what he likes and get to know him, and then get back here.” She kicks him in the direction of the shower and speaks with determination.

            “We’ve got an Emissary to find.”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment!


End file.
